


Images of Broken Light

by issuegirls



Category: Make It or Break It
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/issuegirls/pseuds/issuegirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you know that his not loving you doesn’t mean he doesn’t <i>want</i> you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Images of Broken Light

You watch him. He stalks the gymnasium and his words crack through the air like a whip, lashing everyone within striking distance. You wince and busy yourself with your floor routine, pretending you don’t see him from the corner of your eye, can’t feel the warmth of him behind you.

 _Payson_. But ignoring him has never been an option for you, particularly not when he’s so near you can almost smell the scent of his skin. _There’s too much tension in your back. You need to relax, just a little._

And you try to follow his instructions, try to relax, but it’s almost impossible and he sighs, moves towards you, places one hand on your lower back. You shiver, almost imperceptibly, but he must feel it because his hand slips away and his voice is gruff when he says, _Again._

He hasn’t touched you in longer than you care to remember. Hasn’t dared to, not with the taint of suspicion that lingers still and heavy in the air; a thick layer of mistrust no amount of explaining or apologising or airing out can remove. And you know it’s your fault. You know it is, but you can’t make yourself regret it because-

You kissed him. Everyone knows that. What they don’t - can’t - know is that for a moment, the slightest hint of an instant, he kissed you back.

 

-*-

 

It’s almost an obsession, this desire you have, this need to be with him no matter the cost. The other girls would call you lovesick, you know, and you couldn’t refute it if they did. Because you are: in love. Perhaps, yes, even to the point of sickness. Because he doesn’t love you, that much you know. But maybe love isn’t everything. You remember the hover of his hands over your hips, the way he follows the sway of your breasts when you move and you know that his not loving you doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ you.

It isn’t premeditated, you tell yourself, not really, but you wait until the others go home for the day, until it’s just the two of you, and you wait until he’s at the edge of the mats, until your skin prickles with the heat of his gaze. You wait until his hand brushes your shoulder, traces along the back of your leo.

And you turn and he whispers, _Don’t_. But his eyes are hungry and his lips are on yours before you can reply and you aren’t sure which of you he was talking to, anyway.

Kisses escalate to caresses and soon his mouth is on your breast, licking and sucking and lightly biting and you’re moaning and tugging on his hair and telling him not to stop.

And then he does and he says, _Don’t let me do this_ , and his eyes are tortured and you take a deep breath and slide your hand to the front of his jeans and his eyes close. He’s hard and ready against your palm and your shudder is partly in relief, partly fear, but mostly determination.

 _Please_ , you say, and he kisses you again and carries you to the office. And then you’re on the couch and you can feel the weight of his body on yours and you can hear foil tearing and then you can feel him inside you, a part of you and it hurts and it’s Sasha and because it’s Sasha, it’s good and he’s watching you with heated blue eyes, and breathing a command to _Come, Payson_ and you shatter, flying apart, disappearing beneath him.

 

-*-

 

He prowls around you like a large cat, something hungry and angry and dangerous and it makes you nervous; the look in his eyes, that self-loathing mixed with something else – resentment? – makes you shiver. You could almost wish you’d never started this, never taught him the ease with which a man can sink into himself, into his baser instincts. And yet- you have him, for the most part. You can’t let yourself regret it any more than you regret the kiss that started everything, so many months ago.

You don’t regret it, you tell yourself, and try not to tremble when his hand strokes your hair, holds you still for the brush of his lips against your throat. But you can’t help yourself from whispering, _Who are you?_ and shrinking back even as your body arches into his. He shrugs, scrapes his teeth against the vulnerable line of your throat. _The man you wanted me to be_ , he says. And you don’t know how to reply.

So you apologise with every stroke of your hand along his back, his stomach, the muscles of his thigh, and his nails are sharp against the softness of your skin.

 _Sasha_ , you sigh when he’s moving in you, powerful thrusts that make you gasp and him groan against your neck. _Do you hate me?_ And he looks at you for a long moment, so very long that your heart begins to tremble in your breast, and then he says, _No_ , and kisses you, the heat of his mouth and the brush of tongue making you forget what you’d talked about, almost. But later, later you stroke his hair and watch him shudder to your touch and you swallow the tears filling your eyes and tightening your throat and know he’s lying.

 

-*-

 

He circles you and you understand that what you’ve done, what the both of you have let happen, has changed everything. And for the first time since you began training again, you feel like you’re unstable, like you’re just waiting, waiting to fall. And you know that when you do, he won’t catch you.

 

 

~end~


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